The Elegant Mailed Fist
by IronMailedKnight
Summary: Olivia Browning is thrown into command of St. Gloriana's Tankery team in just her second year, with the school hoping she can help repair its tarnished image in the world of International Tankery. On the way, she'll do what she can to renew the school's image of Tankery...and earn a few rivals along the way.
1. Chapter 1 -Trial By Fire

**Chapter 1: Trial By Fire**

 **Second Year Dorms, St. Gloriana Girls College**

 **Oxford, Oxfordshire, England, UK**

 **0700 A.M.**

"Bloody hell!"

With her nearby alarm clock blaring in her ear, her head bounced off the mahogany headrest of her bed, shortly following the rest of her body to the carpet floor, with groans of agony and sleepiness soon echoing in the room after the dull thud broke the early morning silence.

Continuing to issue groans after picking herself up off the floor, she slammed down her hand on the snooze button of her alarm clock-now displaying "7:01 A.M" for her sleepy eyes to see-bringing a familiar silence to her unremarkably arranged dorm room, which was perfectly sized for a single student like her.

Running her hand through her auburn hair, the girl slowly made her way to the bathroom down the hall, slowly easing herself out her morning stupor before stepping into the first shower pod in the WC, reading herself for what she knew was going to be a long day.

After taking a good 40 minutes to finally get herself ready for the day, Olivia finally got herself dressed in St. Gloriana's tankery uniform, its unblemished scarlet coloring making her smile before she dashed down to the common room for breakfast, the heels of her boots banging softly against the tile stairs.

Even now, it wasn't hard to find the common room, with the smells of various different types of breakfast emanating from the room before Olivia's hand even opened the door, with another girl tapping her foot in her seat. The look the other girl gave Olivia was a brief frown before becoming a sad smile while the semi-awake Olivia got herself a simple breakfast of sausage, toast and jam along with breakfast tea that she was still getting used to.

Finally sitting down across from the other girl, Olivia bowed her head apologetically, knowing she was going to get another stern yet gentle talking to. However, she was grateful that this wasn't a regular occurrence, and that this time would be because circumstances had now changed for her.

* * *

The girl was Shirley Finnegan, a Belfast transplant who had been on St. Gloriana's Tankery team for longer than Olivia had, and had been stuck as the Vice-Commander for the team when the previous team commander graduated, leaving the auburn haired girl stuck with the job when she was voted in and named the previous girl's successor by the school's Board of directors. While Shirley had voiced her displeasure at the decision initially, the girl had been won over by Olivia's skill when she had been placed under pressure, slowly growing to respect the decision that had been made.  
Called a prodigy by some, Olivia has been said to project a calm tenacity when the situation came down to it, and was considered to be excellent in the art of sudden counter-offensives and defensive strategies. However, this was offset by a fiery temper if the situation started to get out of her control. And if that did occur, Shirley was there to help snap her out it.

* * *

"You know what we have to do for today, right?" Shirley admonished her, "Because this sets the whole schedule back." "Yes, I know...because we have a long drive to get to the training grounds, and every minute counts," Olivia replied, her tone one of mild shame as she tucked into her breakfast, coughing a bit as she tasted the tea, "Bloody hell...that taste is going to be a lot to get used to…"

"Yeah..breakfast tea is not easy to get used to, even after having it off and on for a few years," Shirley remarked with a chuckle, failing to disguise the humor that Olivia's reaction had elicited from her, making the auburn haired girl shoot the other girl a pout as the two continued eat breakfast.

After the two finish breakfast, the two then finally board the coach bus bound for their training grounds at Salisbury Plain, with their tanks waiting for them there. For yet another time, the chalk plains in Wiltshire would rumble with the sounds of Bedford, Liberty and Rolls Royce tank engines.

* * *

 **Salisbury Plain Training Grounds**

 **near Imber, Wiltshire, England, UK**

 **10:00 a.m.**

The coach bus rolled up to the spacious garage of St. Gloriana, the wind sweeping gently over the chalk plains around them as they approached the garage with a few newer students, thankful that a few older students were there to help command some of the tanks. The exercises today would be to help establish synergy between the crews, and to help give the new commander an idea of what she would be dealing with as far as what tanks she'd have to deal with. Moments later, the girls entered the garage, the silhouettes of the iron beasts cloaked in the dim English light filtering through the windows.

The master mechanic then turned on the lights, with the tank silhouettes now fully resolving before their eyes. _"Oohs"_ and _"ahhs"_ spilled from the mouths of the newer crew members, with the more experienced members allowing them to see the range of tanks in front of them: from the large, looming mass of the lone Tortoise tank destroyer, to the small and squat Crusaders and Valentines.

However, Olivia's eyes were drawn to the oddity sitting amongst the speedy Cromwells, with tank she had commanded last year become her official command tank: the Centaur IV, complete with its stubby 95mm howitzer. Getting out from her momentary wistfulness, she then turns to the crews, hoping that her voice was loud enough to pierce through the dense skulls of the newer girls.

"Alright girls, here's what we're going to do. I want all commanders to meet with me for a pre-exercise briefing while the crews are to familiarize themselves with their vehicles. Am I understood?" she barked out, hope that everyone did understand her despite her Scottish brogue. A quick reply of "Yes, ma'am," reached her ears, making the girl sigh with relief as she made her way towards where the informal 'war room' was.

* * *

Sitting down at the head of the briefing table for the briefest of moments, Olivia watched as the rest of the commanders filed in, feeling the weight of expectation now settling in her stomach like a stone, with Shirley being the last to file in. Once the door banged shut, all eyes immediately turned towards Olivia, with Shirley standing beside her in stoic silence.

"Alright, since I'm a bit new to leading a large group like this, I would like our more experienced commanders to put forth a few ideas as to how we should conduct today's exercise," the auburn haired girl finally said, breaking the awkward silence that had permeated the room since the rest of the commanders had arrived, with more awkward silence filling in the space before each of the other commanders started to speak up.

There were, of course, the tried and true suggestions that were brought up by a few of the experienced commanders, with the rest putting up new ideas, with Olivia trying to absorb all that was being thrown her direction. She knew that, in order for her to gain trust from the other commanders, she'd have to listen to them; but knew that the final decision would ultimately come down to her. Which wasn't exactly a comforting thought for someone who already had enough pressure on her already.

* * *

And after the briefing was over, Olivia could feel the intensity of the stares leveled by a few of the commanders at her, having not gone with what they suggested during the briefing. The girl wasn't winning many favors just yet, but the way the exercise went would go a long way to mending a little bit of the trust that she had just lost.

As she went to her tank, each of the other commanders went to theirs, the rumble and roar of Bedford, Rolls Royce and Liberty engines filling the garage with ancient thunder as the doors yawned open to once again reveal the rolling chalk plain before them. Grabbing her radio, she turned it on, and gave the order: "Move out. All tanks forward and prepare to match speed." A chorus of _"Yes Ma'am" s_ echoed through the Centaur as they crept forward with the Churchill in front, with the start of the exercise already going off to a good start.

The tanks crawled forward onto the plain to begin the exercise, tallgrass parting before their massed group of armored battle wagons. All the while, in the command seat of her tank, Olivia clicked the radio twice, signaling its official start to the trainers-who were mostly seniors-who were all too ready to put the newer girls through their paces.

* * *

 **Salisbury Plain Training Grounds**

 **near Imber, Wiltshire, England, UK**

 **1230 (12:30 P.M.)**

The Salisbury Plain once again echoed with ancient thunder as the boom of 75mm cannon fire echoed over the landscape, with the scent of panic and stress filling the compartments of each tank as they fought against the more experienced trainers who were testing the accuracy of the tank gunners. And many-to Olivia's great relief-were learning fast on how to aim and fire the guns each tank sported.

Of course, this was due in no small part to Olivia and the commanders helping to get their act together. And despite the elegance that seemed to be touted in St. Gloriana's battle conduct, there was little elegance getting the new girls to perform well, with profuse cursing by several of the commanders getting the job done.

The drivers of each of the tanks took the shortest time in getting the message across, with the gunners and loaders having a hard time getting the hang of working together. When word of that reached Olivia's ears, and having observed this for herself in her own tank, it was cause for slight concern. However, the overall good results that were coming in from the commanders was helping to alleviate those concerns.

* * *

 **St. Gloriana Girls College Tankery "War Room"**

 **Oxford, Oxfordshire, England, UK**

 **1630 Hours (4:30 p.m.)**

"So...what did we all learn from the exercise today, ladies?" Olivia remarked, sitting down at the head of the table in the "War Room" for the tankery club, looking over the video as it played out for the rest of them.

"That our gunners and loaders need some practice time together," one of the girls replied, "because clearly they're having some issues with timing," "Which is putting it mildly," Shirley retorted, the Irish brogue coming out in full, "Because personally feel like giving them a beating worse than what happened on Bloody Sunday with the IRA."

"Right…" Olivia said, asking cautiously, "In every other aspect, I trust that you and your crews have reached a common understanding?" The air briefly retaining some tension before hearing a near uniform chorus of "Yes, ma'am" echo throughout the small room around her. Hearing no other grievances to air about the exercise, Olivia dismisses the meeting as they all head back to their dorms, or to finish up with clases for the day.

As Olivia headed to her late-afternoon class, the girl mused that her first day of command had gone relatively well, despite the issues with the exercise. However, this was only just an exercise, and she would soon face an actual fight. For now, however, she could afford to be happy with the minor victories she had won today.


	2. Chapter 2: Prelude to The Storm

Chapter 2: Prelude to the Storm

 **St. Gloriana Girls College Tankery "War Room"**

 **Oxford, Oxfordshire, England, UK**

 **1030 Hours (10:30 a.m.)**

Every eye in the room remained locked on what they were seeing on the screen: the latest interview with the French BC Freedom Girls Academy, which had humiliated St. Gloriana two years before. Many of the commanders remembered the bitter and stinging loss, their return to England during a bitter and rainswept day seen as a sign at how far the English school had fallen.

The French were quick to crow about their victory, with the school running over the St. Gloriana standard in their tanks as they paraded through the streets of Paris like conquering heroes. Even now, the new French commander was quick to remind the viewers about it:

 _"They couldn't even maintain a semblance of order and attack us properly. If they are anything like they were last year, the victory that we'll have in the exhibition match should be done before their precious tea grows cold," the girl remarked with a hearty laugh by both her and the reporter, "And firmly show that Britain has lost her backbone."_

As the last words of that statement echoed in the room, Olivia's face reddened, with the girl looking ready to break the screen and shout a few choice words for the Frenchwoman. However, Shirley was there to put a hand on her shoulder, removing some of the steam from the boiling teapot Olivia had become.

Taking a deep breath, Olivia turned to face the room filled with veteran commanders who were equally as stung by the words of the French. With words clearly aimed to try to bring down and humiliate the veteran commanders, the girl had clearly failed in doing so. Instead, something else was now filling those in the room: a burning desire for revenge. And it was a desire that Olivia was all too happy to fill.

* * *

"So, how do you think we should go at the French girls this year, because an assault like last time will make her prediction come true," Olivia finally remarked, with a shrug coming from at least one or two of the commanders, before the commander of the Churchill VII finally spoke up, with Olivia grateful that she could at least understand her.

"I say that, depending on the terrain, we bait them into thinking we'll use the same tactics that we did last year," the girl replied, "With our Crusader tanks as the bait. Assuming the French brat is as cocky as she acts, they'll fall for it," With Olivia nodding and liking much of what she had to hear.

"However," Olivia added, "That would leave us with less tanks to combat them. What I'd like to do is use the Crusaders like scouts, and if the French do fire on them, it'll give us a good idea as to what their composition is for the match." The Crusader commanders looked to each other, wanting to object, with the hanging silence in the air showing that they were willing to see if this would work.

"Glad there are no objections to this plan. As for what we'll do when the do attack us, we'll do what previous St. Gloriana teams did best at: dig in, and make them pay for every yard they try to gain in iron and blood," her tone as she spoke one of confidence, and easily cutting through the air of tension that had developed in the room for the briefest of moments.

"The gauntlet has been thrown, ladies," Olivia barked, "Time to get to work." As the statement finally settled in the room, the commanders all filed out quickly to gather up their crews. With the cracking of her hands, Olivia soon followed suit, knowing full well that the statement pertained not just to them, but also to herself as well.

* * *

The preparation for the exhibition match went on for several days, with Olivia at times becoming an unrelenting taskmaster, wanting the team to act like a well-oiled machine. And at the end of those several days-which seemed to blur together at a few points-the team seemed to act like the well oiled machine that the auburn haired girl desired.

However, she knew that all the training and cohesion might crumble the moment French shells started hitting their steel beasts. With the match day drawing ever nearer, Olivia sincerely hoped that fortune would smile on them once more.

* * *

 **ITA Designated Match Site**

 **Near Caen, France, Normandy Region**

 **1000 Hours (10:00 A.M.)**

 **Match day**

Despite numerous proclamations by the ITA and various world news sources, the air around the match had all the trappings of a tournament fight. The fact that it was on French soil wouldn't help the English tankers, as home-field advantage was clearly in favor of BC Freedom, with a few of the French girls hailing from this area of the country. However, with the match being in the region closest to England, ferries from ports along the Channel were laden with Englishmen and women to see who would win in this version of their age old rivalry.

For Olivia, she saw more of the stark irony of where the match was being held, with the familiar and imposing medieval spires of Caen looming in the distance as if to remind the English tankers of their forebears follies during WWII. The rumble of Meteors, Liberty and Bedford engines echoed over the stark and empty fields around them as the tanks of St. Gloriana made their way to the site, trundling down a path through fields that once echoed with the sounds of screams and gunfire three-quarters of a century earlier

Steeling herself for the match ahead, Olivia took a deep breath, finding it hard to dispel the mounting pressure that she was now feeling. A little while later, the British tankers finally met their French counterparts, the hulks of the French ARL-44s staring back at them with their menacing 90mm guns.

Coming to a halt with a complaint of their brakes, the English tanks sat lined up, with Olivia and Shirley hopping out of their respective vehicles to meet their French counterparts. The two had trouble hiding smirks at the sight of the French uniforms, who were replete with kepis and shoulder capes. In the meantime, the English looked rather smart in their splendid red uniforms, which stood in contrast to their motley assortment of tanks.

The leaders then met in the middle, the two school commanders sizing each other up like prizefighters before a bout as the judge looked on to the two groups.

"Do you plan on making this easy for me, you tea-swigging English loser?" the French girl quipped, the growing smirk on her face only adding to the impression that she felt quite confident in her victory.

"I hate to disappoint ya, you smug Frog," Olivia retorted back, "But this isn't the same team you fought last time. Why don't you save yourself the trouble and send your museum pieces to Saumur before we humiliate you," adding "Don't worry, we won't maul your petit Renault that badly," before the French girl could come up with a suitable reply, the grin on the Brits only serving to make the French commander's expression turn from smug to positively irate.

"We shall see who is the smug one at the end of this match!" The French girl shot back, to which Olivia merely replied, "Of that we can agree on, Frenchie," the statement hanging in the air as the judge finally decided to speak up, only adding to the tension.

"Following the rules set by the ITA, this exhibition match between BC Freedom and St. Gloriana Girls College is to be an Annihilation battle, with the winner being the one with the most operational tanks remaining on the field," the judge announced, their eyes glancing briefly to each team before continuing, "With both teams now understanding the rules of the match, may the two commanders now shake hands before going to their starting positions."

Olivia and the French girl then shook hands, with the former gripping the latter's hand in a brief but vice-like grip, with the judge finishing by saying, "The match will start when the signal flare goes up. Is that understood?" The two groups of girls nodding to say that they indeed got the message. "Now, go to your tanks and wait for the signal. May the best team win."

As the four girls headed to their respective tanks, they responded to the final statement in their respective languages: "Don't worry, we intend to," with Olivia glad the French girl couldn't see her face as the pressure the Scottish girl felt once again became palpable to her.

* * *

As Olivia marched to her tank, she gave the signal for her crews to get into her vehicles, the girls responding with a speed that would have impressed the likes of their forebears as they squeezed into their steel beasts, the roars of English tank engines echoing over the plain, with the French engines responding in kind as the two teams went to go into their pre-planned positions. After a while the two teams were very much ready for a fight.

The commanders of each team now waited, with Olivia's binoculars seemingly glued to her eyes as she waited for the flare to appear. It didn't take long for it to do so, a harsh glare illuminating the Norman sky, making the auburn haired girl immediately drop down into the driver's seat and batten down the hatches. She then grabbed the radio, the device crackling to life as she got ready to give the fateful orders to the crews.

* * *

After many minutes of wrangling them all together into a defensive line that would have impressed even the old Duke of Wellington, Olivia peered out of the hatch of her Centaur tank, binoculars and eyes glued to the sky as she waited for the fateful signal to start the fight. Not long after she popped out of her hatch did a familiar glow pop up in the sky, lazily starting its fall to the Earth. Grabbing the radio once more, the auburn haired girl then spoke to the girls in a tone that didn't betray her nerves: "Alright ladies...let's show these frogs what we're made of."

Time seemed to slow ever so slightly as the realization set in: no more rehearsals, no more practice, and little room for error.  
Now the battle truly had begun.


End file.
